1776: Walk in My Buckled Shoes
by believin'inluv
Summary: Each member of the Continental Congress has their own doubts, opinions, troubles, and dreams-if only their fellow delegates knew how they secretly felt. "10 Things" format, based on the musical 1776. I'll take requests on which delegate to do next.
1. John Adams

**This is my first 1776 fanfic, though I am a long time history nerd and fan of the amazing play! I just want to say that I do not own 1776 or the "10 things" idea. I have seen it done by many authors on this site before (for various topics) and I don't know who did it first, but they own it and not me. No one has done a "10 things" for 1776 yet, and I felt it needed to be done. I hope you like it and will review, b/c reviews keep me writing! **

**NOTE: While many events in this fanfic are based on historical happenings, not all of it is true. Combined information was taken from 1776, John Adams by David McCullough, and various online resources. If you know that something is very, very historically inaccurate, you can certainly let me know, but please don't flame. After all, there's a reason why it is fanfiction. :)**

**John Adams **

**1.** _He despises that green frock coat. That stupid, silky, awful green frock coat._

It always seems to be in the one place where John Adams never wants it to be. He will never forget the day he stood up in Congress to discuss the issue of independency for only the second time ever. The coat was not there; its owner was absent. He grinned with joy as he looked upon the empty seat. He then began to discuss the possibility—or necessity, in his personal vocabulary—of independency from Great Britain.

All eyes were on him, enraptured by his words. The words flowed from his mouth as if he had been born speaking them. He looked straight into the gaping eyes and occasionally tapped his walking stick on the ground to emphasize his points. It was his moment in the sun.

That was when a flash of green in the doorway of the meeting room caught his eye.

"Forgive my tardiness, gentlemen!" John Dickinson strutted into the room draped in emerald glory, swinging his walking stick about as he came. His best friend and Congressional patsy, James Wilson, trailed behind him in a much less noticeable manner. Adams remembered Dickinson looking at him, raising his eyebrows coolly, and then sighing in disgust. "Oh no, not THIS issue again. Mr. President…" He turned towards John Hancock in the chair and smirked deviously. "Pennsylvania moves that the debate on this issue be postponed. Perhaps to next month? Or even better, next year?"

How he despises that green frock coat.

**2.** _They call him "the agitator." That was something he never wanted to be._

John Adams knows he gets on the nerves of many congressmen. He knows that whenever Dickinson rises to speak, he will be standing a moment later. He knows that he often stands alone in openly defending the patriot cause in Congress. He knows that he will shout and shout while Benjamin Franklin sits by quietly and observes, and while Thomas Jefferson daydreams, and while the rest of the Congress moans.

John agitates them, and he knows it. Yet he also knows that the ultimate price of silence will be a greater burden to bear then unpopularity.

**3.** _His cousin Samuel is never there._

John never approved of all of his cousin's methods to achieve independency. The colonies needed it more than anything, of course; however, when John heard of the Boston Tea Party and Sam's support of the tarring-and-featherings, he looked upon the actions with disgust. He told Samuel that his methods were often indecent and destructive.

"Every other man and woman across the colonies seems to approve of them," Samuel replied, with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. Samuel was elected alongside John to the Massachusetts delegation in the Continental Congress. Yet John notices that as he fights, his cousin is absent. While his voice is heard for two miles down the street, Samuel's firebrand input is silenced.

And yet, whenever John refers to himself as Adams of Massachusetts to a group of Philadelphia citizens, they always gasp in elation and mistake him for Sam. John doesn't know how he feels about that.

**4.** _If John Adams wasn't a man of morals and willpower, he would've punched Edward Rutledge in the face a long time ago._

Dickinson makes John angry every single day. That is not a secret to anyone; even non members of Congress know it. John's secret is that he hates Rutledge more. Dickinson makes known where he stands on the issues; he stands against anything John proposes and anything involving independency. Rutledge's stance is consistently unclear. He claims to want independence, but only for South Carolina. He claims he will vote for independence "as soon as everyone else does." He does not clearly state yes or no. Rutledge sits in his seat most of the time. He does not utter a word unless he is whispering a snide comment to his southern brother, Joseph Hewes. His congressional activities include smirking pompously and occasionally flattening his rose-print vest.

The only time Rutledge ever took a stand on anything was when he vehemently spoke out against the anti-slavery clause in Tom's Declaration. That only made John hate him even more.

**5.** _Whenever words fail him, John thinks of Abigail._

He wonders what she is doing at home. He checks the time and smiles as he realizes she is sitting down to dinner at the moment. He thinks about his farm. He wonders how his children are and if they are safe. He wonders if John Quincy finished that book he was reading and if Nabby is working on a new sewing activity.

The nights in humid Philadelphia are dreadful and lonely for him. All he can do is think of Abigail. As he tries to fall asleep each night, he wonders if she is as forlorn as he is. He thinks about the future seasons and wonders if she will be cold at night without him beside her. Often he cannot sleep and he rises to write her a letter. He sends each one off with a prayer that they will not be intercepted. He writes to her in Congress as well, during breaks. It is harder for him to concentrate there, yet he cannot seem to stop writing her.

"My wife is doing superb, James!" he overhears Dickinson often boast with a grin. "She still has her luxury, the slaves, and the mansion. It's like I never left her!" Then he goes on to discuss all of the nice things he ever bought for his wife. John thinks about the farm and all of the work that Abigail must do compared to Mary Dickinson. It is those thoughts that make John hate the days more than the nights.

**6.** _Sometimes, John swears that Richard Henry Lee is an angel in disguise._

When Lee offered to obtain a Virginia resolution on independency, John was at first against it. In his mind, Lee was a spunky individual, but too lighthearted for the serious task at hand. John did not have any faith that Lee would return with a resolution. However, when he did, John realized that Lee had helped him a great deal. He had come to John's aid when he needed the most help, like angels often do. John likes Lee now. Lee is constantly optimistic and energetic. He engages in many conversations and provides many entertaining stories. Lee's comedy often helps John make it through his days at Congress.

John remembers one day at Independence Hall, when he was sitting in his seat and staring at absolutely nothing. He was lost in melancholy thought. Abigail had written him saying that life on the farm was getting harder and that the children all had the measles. He was worried about Abby and the children, so much that he couldn't take his mind off of them.

"Why the long face, Johnny?!" Lee sprinted over to John's desk, his mouth formed in his usual cheery grin. When he saw John's dismayed expression, he immediately looked baffled. John normally never talked about such serious things with Lee, but he was tired of keeping his worries to himself. He told Lee what Abigail had written, and Lee listened intently and nodded his head. "That is awful, Johnny," Lee said. "I know you wish you were home with them, but look on the bright side." Instead of saying what the bright side was, Lee stopped speaking. His mouth hung open for a few seconds. Suddenly, a huge fly landed on John's desk. Lee quickly picked up a nearby book and dropped it on top of the fly. John looked at Lee in surprise. Lee pointed to the book, his eyes sparkling and his mouth grinning. "You could be that fly!"

John laughed so hard that the other congressmen eyed him oddly. He didn't know why he laughed at that. Maybe it was the expression on Lee's face, or the tone of voice in which he said it. Or maybe John was just desperate to feel something other than anxiety. Either way, he got over his worries. Lee had helped him once again.

**7.** _John Adams didn't always hate John Dickinson._

Upon the first sight of Dickinson, John did not think that he could handle the pressure of Congress. Dickinson was pale and thin, and did not seem the firebrand type whatsoever. However, after getting to know him better, John changed his mind. Dickinson was a smart, debonair individual. They had interesting conversations and shared some laughs. Soon John could call him a friend with confidence. Then, John Dickinson drafted the Olive Branch Petition, and the friendship was over. Tension between them increased when a letter of John's, containing insulting words about Dickinson, was discovered by the British and published in their newspapers. That was when the shouting and the walking stick fights began.

There are times during Congress when John looks at his nemesis and wishes things were different. He recalls all of the good talk that he and Dickinson shared. He remembers Dickinson's pamphlet which criticized the early actions of the British, titled _Letters from a Farmer in Pennsylvania_. John wonders what would've happened if Dickinson only went the extra step and backed independence. He wonders if they would still be friends.

Then Dickinson stands up and praises the king, and the fight begins all over again.

**8. **_John learned how to listen from two people. _

Tom usually sits in silence during Congress. He never rises to speak against an issue. The loudest John ever hears Tom is when he plays his violin, and even then he is not speaking. A little while after they met, John encouraged Tom to start speaking up.

"You are very bright," John would complement the young Virginian. "I don't see why you are determined to reveal your talents merely through your pen." Tom would never respond. One day, while Tom was still working on the Declaration, Benjamin Franklin and John went to dinner.

"John," Ben said, looking at him with knowing eyes. "I've noticed that you've been telling Tom to speak up in Congress lately." John was about to talk, but Ben held up a hand to stop him. He looked to the side, then back at John. "That man sitting with his friend over there? He was fired today. The lady serving drinks? She ran away from home because her parents didn't approve of the man she loved. And that man in the corner, sitting all alone? He's come here every day for the past two months, but orders nothing. He lost his home."

"Franklin, what in God's name are you talking about?" John asked, knowing Ben was using one of his riddles. Ben tapped his fingers slowly on the table, then stopped.

"I'm saying, my friend, that you do not always need to talk to grasp a situation. Observing and listening will get you very far."

John remembered how Ben usually sat quietly in Congress, not saying anything. John never ordered Tom to speak up after that.

**9.** _There isn't a day that goes by when John does not go up to the bell tower alone and wishes he was someone else._

First he thinks of the issue at hand. Even though John knows he must continue speaking out for independency, being the agitator truly bothers him. He often wishes he were as wise and respected as Ben, who always gets his point across without "agitating" anyone. He wishes he could keep his mouth shut, the way Tom does. He wishes he had the optimistic naivety of Lee. Then he thinks of Abby back home and wishes that he could give her everything that Dickinson gives his wife. He thinks about how he was alienated in Congress for not supporting Dickinson's Olive Branch Petition when it was first drafted. He wishes he was as suave and well-liked as Dickinson.

John wishes these things slightly out of jealousy, but mostly out of self-criticism. For secretly he wonders if he is the reason why many of the delegates hate the idea of independency so much. He is too outspoken, too obnoxious, too disliked to be correct. He will, as Dickinson likes to say, lead them all "down the firey path of total destruction." On top of that, he feels guilty for Abigail having to raise the children without him. She is all alone, and it is his fault.

For as harsh as John is on the delegates he works with, he is harshest on himself.

**10.** _John Adams knows his struggles will not end, because he cannot face his one fear: failure._

Deep in his heart, John knows that even if independency is declared, the war must still be won. There will be negotiations needed to be made and more business to take care of. What's more, John knows that he will continue to be a part of it all. It is his choice, of course. He could choose to go home, back to his adoring family and people of Boston. He could live that life of pure safety that Dickinson, Rutledge, and all their cronies cherish more than anything.

But, if he did that, he'd fail his country.

He'd fail all of those praying for him to emerge triumphant.

He'd fail those in his country and around the world who cry for freedom.

John can't do that. The cause is too important. The lives of other patriots and his children's futures depend on him. If independency is declared, the king and the redcoats will want his blood. John knows this, and he does not care. If the British get him, at least he will not have failed; he will have died trying to make America free.

So John Adams walks into the Philadelphia State House, back into the humid, fly-infested room, to fight another harsh battle.

Again.

And Again.

And Again.

**That's the end of part one; next up is John Dickinson!**


	2. John Dickinson

**Wow, a few requests for Congressmen already! Many thanks to the readers and requesting reviewers; you guys are awesome! Sorry this next part took me so long to update; homework stinks. This next part takes place before and during the passage of the Declaration. So, without further ado, here's the man in green we all love to hate. **

**John Dickinson**

**1.** _Every time he looks in the mirror, he remembers the bruise._

John Dickinson recalls the words exchanged that day in Congress.

"Madman!"

"LANDLORD!"

"LAWYER!"

He can still see John Adams picking up his walking stick with fury blazing in his eyes. He can still see his arms in front of him, holding up his own walking stick in defense. He can hear the shouts of his fellow Congressmen, the clanking sound of the canes hitting against one another, and the loud gunshot from Colonel McKean's favorite firearm.

When he traveled back to his favorite of his two Pennsylvania homes—Fairhill, it is named—he noticed a large purple bruise on the top of his left shoulder. It seemed to grow darker as he got ready for bed. It was the biggest bruise he had ever gotten his whole life, yet he didn't remember Adams hitting him there. The bruise became sore before it went away, but he never considered it very painful. It was he who had started the insults and led to a fight. There had to be some damage.

Besides, Adams has hurt him much worse in the past.

It is for that reason alone why he remembers the bruise.

**2.** _John Dickinson is a master of insults._

Whenever a debate in Congress begins, John states his side clearly and suavely. Nothing gets to him, and he wants the whole Congress to know it. Whenever Adams rises to object to him, John answers back with a sardonic tone and many insults.

He knows he wounds Adams's pride, and he is proud of it. He must stop Adams in any way possible, even if it means degrading his sense of worth. After all, he is the one thing standing between Adams's radical ideas and sense. Nothing gets Adams angrier than a good insult, and nothing distracts the Congress from Adams's arguments better.

Nothing distracts John's mind from Adams's arguments better, either.

**3.** _John lies about his perfect marriage._

He tells his good friend James Wilson that everything is fine between him and Mary. He boasts it out loud so that the whole Congress can hear. He is quite proud of his marriage, and just like everything else, they will know that fact.

They will not know that when he arrives home, Mary prattles on and on about peace until his ears nearly bleed. They will not know about the talks he receives from her Quaker parents, urging him that the time for independence is wrong and that he should continue straying from war. They will not know how aggravated he gets when Mary tells him to believe something that goes against his judgment, and they will certainly never know how many times he has accepted her beliefs.

It often keeps John awake at night. He thinks about the independency issue and what all of the pro-independence men in Congress say about it. Then he thinks about what his wife and her family says. They are good people, and they must be right. Independence is not the answer.

To John, fighting it is the only way the thirteen colonies will ever be protected from chaotic destruction.

**4.** _John cannot forget those taxes._

He heard the news of the Sugar Act, the Stamp Act, the Tea Act, etc., etc., etc. a little while back. He heard the news—and he found it despicable. He thought the King's actions so distasteful that he wrote a pamphlet against them. Taking this fact into account, John understands why some may be confused as to his positions in Congress.

Adams and his few allies say he doesn't want independence so that he can stay safe and affluent where he is. John wants to spit in their faces for their ignorance. It's not independence that is the problem—it's _them_. He hates to pay his unfair taxes, but he does not throw tea into a harbor to make his point. He doesn't need to separate from his mother country to prove his point, either. John isn't reckless like them. He isn't an agitator; he is cool, cool, and considerate.

Yet the thoughts of those taxes continue to haunt his mind every day.

**5.** _His large support group is a fraud._

John knows that most of the Congressmen listen to him, and he loves his superiority. They worship him from the beginning to the end of a session, all because of his social standing and his previous works. Whatever he says, the majority applauds. They follow him through the issues with loyalty. If John orders them to despise something, they despise it. If John says jump, they ask how high.

Adams knows that John is popular; he has said so dozens of times. Yes, John has plenty of money. Yes, he married a rich woman and owns two houses. Yes, he basks in the support he receives in Congress. He especially enjoys the cheers he gets for his opinions while Adams sulks at his desk. He loves how he can lead the Congressmen as if he was an instructor and they were backup dancers in a minuet.

However, when the Congressional session is over for the day, only James Wilson is left. Soon afterward James bids him farewell and walks to the cozy place where he is staying.

Then John Dickinson is alone again, finding himself wishing for the morning.

**6.** _There was one time in Congress when John actually felt inferior._

One day during a Congressional break, Richard Henry Lee offered to play a game.

"I think that we should have all of the delegates in this room who are lawyers talk about the best trial they've ever performed, and then we'll all decide whose trial was the greatest!"

Since Lee wasn't an official lawyer, John thought it funny that he was proposing the game. However, the others all agreed to play. John told which trial he thought was his best. Many delegates spoke in full detail about their best trials while others listened. Soon everyone had told their stories—well, almost everyone.

"What about you, Johnny?!" Lee asked. John was about to answer that he already told his story, before he realized that Lee was looking at Adams. Adams was sitting in his seat, reading a paper of some sort. His face flushed red with embarrassment.

"That's quite alright, I don't need a turn," Adams said. Yet the entire room insisted (except for John, who sneered quietly to himself.) Adams cleared his throat. "Well, um…" He looked around the entire room. John rolled his eyes. "Well," Adams continued, "after the Boston Massacre, I defended the British soldiers who were accused of murder. For the most part, they were acquitted."

The entire room fell silent.

John walked out of the room seething, knowing just as well as the others who had won the game.

**7.** _He remembers what it was like to be friends with John Adams._

James Wilson is John's best friend in Congress now. James has a secret talent for listening. John has revealed a lot of his inner thoughts to James (with the exception of his disagreements with Mary), and his little sidekick has always given him good advice. James is not the most captivating or fierce individual, but he is a nice friend.

Despite this, John still feels his stomach drop whenever he sees Adams walk into a room. He observes when Adams walks towards a group of Congressmen and they all seem to smile. He notices Benjamin Franklin and Richard Henry Lee going to Adams many times for either philosophical discussions or lighthearted banters.

There was even a time when John walked outside and heard Thomas Jefferson laughing with Adams. John never heard the taciturn Jefferson laugh before, especially so loudly and so jovially. Then Jefferson and Adams ran away in a race to see who would get to the Bunch of Grapes restaurant first. They continued to laugh as they turned the corner, as if they were young children.

John remembers the harsh words that Adams wrote about him in his letter, the letter that was published in the Tory newspapers. The memory never ceases to boil his blood. It was so humiliating to wake up and discover his good name slandered in bold ink. Every day since, his passionate hatred for the man who wrote the published words has grown and grown.

John wonders, then, why he once wished to be the one running to the restaurant beside him.

**8.** _John wonders what is happening to his world._

He used to be able to walk the streets of his dear Philadelphia with such carelessness after Congress adjourned for the day. He used to go home happily to his wife and many warm meals. He used to not worry about a thing. He still had it all.

Even though John still walks with the pomp and suaveness that he did before, his heart is filled with gloom. There is something wrong in Congress. There is a silence present—the sound of men thinking—that was never there before.

When Edward Rutledge and his gang of southerners stormed out, Dickinson at first was happy. He didn't care about the slavery clause, but he was glad to get some congressmen back on his side and less in the middle of the issue. Directly after his triumphant moment, he began to feel sick. Rutledge was the one leading the opposition; not himself. He is losing his influence.

He is no longer the instructor, but the background dancer.

That is what John cannot bear.

**9.** _John feels like Julius Caesar._

Julius Caesar was loved once. He was the hero of the Romans, defeater of Pompeii, and the epitome of grandeur. Everyone supported him and turned to him for counsel. Then, one day, the Romans grew tired of Julius Caesar, and some decided to kill him.

John Dickinson was loved once. He was the voice of the Pennsylvania farmers, slanderer of taxes, and the epitome of grandeur. The Congressmen supported him and turned to him for counsel. Then, one day, the Congressmen grew tired of John Dickinson—and he felt it. He rose to defame the Declaration of Independence, and they stared at him as if he had two heads. They no longer cheered and shouted in his favor. He spoke the language they speak every day, but it was as though they did not understand his words. The power, the control he once had, was gone. He had lost them forever.

Brutus killed Caesar with a knife. John Adams's knife is the quill that he will use to sign the Declaration with.

John realizes how lucky Caesar is to be dead. He wishes he had so good a fortune.

**10.**_ Despite his denials, John knows that he is a coward._

John is a coward because cannot stand up to his wife and her family. He cannot face Adams and clarify what exactly went wrong in their friendship. He cannot face the issue of independency because he is afraid of losing what little control he has left in his life.

Most importantly, he cannot face the fact that he was wrong. Obviously independency is the way to protect his homeland, according to the other Congressmen (including his best friend James). It is not the rebels that are the enemy; it is indeed the British.

John is a coward, and he hates himself for it. He is also determined not to let anyone else know it. That is why he heads for the exit of Independence Hall, announcing that he is going to join the Pennsylvania militia.

All John wanted to do was protect his homeland from terror. His plans on how to do so failed. If he harmed his homeland in Congress in any way, he hopes he can be more supportive of it fighting in the field of battle. He pulls open the large door, and turns back around one last time. He sees the Congressmen cheering and a proud John Adams grinning.

John knows that as much as he is a coward, he also had good intentions all along.

He wonders if they knew that too.

Then he walks into the hallway and closes the door.

**End of Part II. Sorry if this chapter wasn't like you expected it to be. It sounds silly, but Dickinson was kind of hard to do (especially coming from a devout Adams supporter, LOL). Here is the order of the upcoming chapters, in order of requests first made: Rutledge, Lee, Dr. Hall. If you want any others, definitely let me know. :)**


	3. Thomas Jefferson

**I know it's been an insanely long time since I updated this story, and I'm SUPER sorry about that. If any of you are still reading, I do hope to get through all the requested Congress members very soon. I jumped out of the requested order for this one, b/c I actually started writing TJ awhile back and decided to finish him up. ****I jumped ahead in time for the last two of the ten things for this one, and I took a little artistic license/historical liberty with the last one. Hopefully you won't mind. ;)**

**Thomas Jefferson**

**10. He's always humming something.**

"What are you humming, Tommy boy?!"

He jolts suddenly, as if awaking from a dream. He turns to face the interrogator, the man who sits next to him at the Virginia delegation table: Richard Henry Lee. He looks at a paper on his desk and shuffles it under another, pretending to look preoccupied.

"I was not humming," he replies, even as he feels his fair cheeks turning as red as the shade of his hair.

"You sure were!" Lee exclaims enthusiastically. "I recognized the tune!"

Before he can further object, his fellow Virginian begins singing in his deep voice. The song interrupts a speech by Dr. Josiah Bartlett—who now looks irritated from his post at the New Hampshire delegation table—and resounds throughout the meeting room. Even the usually unflappable Charles Thompson looks over at them with a raised eyebrow.

"I LIKED, BUT NEVER LOVED, BEFORE I SAW THY CHARMING FACE…NOW EVERY FEATURE I ADORE, AND DOTE ON EVERY GRACE!"

He cringes and rests his head on his hand, as he does whenever he gets one of those painful migraines. He wishes he could melt onto his chair and seep out of the room.

"I did not realize I was humming," he says meekly.

Lee inhales in preparation to sing the next verse, but pauses as his brain processes Tom's words. In one quick turn of his head, the exuberant Lee looks at him with that trademark twinkle in his eyes.

"You're always humming something, Tom!" Lee exclaims. "It's how we know you're actually daydreaming, rather than just sitting there and looking like the drunk who found out there's no alcohol left in the tavern!"

He says nothing in response as his fellow delegate continues to sing obliviously. Lee jumps up and begins cavorting around the desk, much to the amusement of Edward Rutledge and much to the annoyance of John Adams and John Dickinson.

"SHE NEVER SHALL KNOW THE KIND DESIRE, WHICH HER COLD LOOK DENIES…UNLESS MY HEART THAT'S ALL ON FIRE…"

"_Should sparkle in my eyes," _he sings to himself.

**9. T'is merely a hobby**

"Good God man, why on earth would you waste your precious time on that?"

John Adams is certainly not known for his subtlety, but he raises a good point. Everyone in Congress wonders why the young Thomas Jefferson has such an obsession with the weather. He accurately determines it whenever John Hancock requests him to do so, and he unfailingly records every temperature of every day and night in his journals.

Unbeknown to the congressmen, he also records every purchase he makes, every vegetable he plants in his garden, and practically any thought he has on politics, philosophy or the world in general.

He doesn't expect them to understand. Writing these things down guarantees a sense of security he can always rely upon. His writings allow him to monitor how a reader will portray him, should anyone read his journals or letters one day. It is his equivalent of a moat around a castle.

"T'is merely a hobby," he tells Mr. Adams. Then he shrugs.

**8.** **He is the pen, not the voice. **

"You shall write our Declaration," John Adams orders one day, despite Tom's repeated requests to return home and visit his wife. "If I'm the one to do it, they'll run their quill pens through it. I'm obnoxious and disliked, you know that sir!"

He wishes he possessed the confidence in his abilities that John Adams does, as well as the natural self-assurance that John seems to have. Although John constantly says he's unpopular, Tom notices that never stops John from rising and addressing the Congress nearly every day, and that when John speaks, he moves them all from their seats. When Tom looks at John from across the room, he sees a modern-day Cicero whose devotion to independence will be remembered by all of posterity. His honest prose will ring through the ages as clearly as the bell in the state house after McNair pushes it at night.

Tom knows he'll be remembered for his participation in this Congress as well—he would not monitor his journals so carefully if he thought otherwise—but he does not think he will be remembered as greatly as John. He does not even think he will continue working in this new government in the future, as his family is proving a great temptation to leave public life. One thing he is certain of is that John Adams will never leave the government, and that if he did remain in politics, John would always overshadow him.

Because he is the dreamer, not the agitator. The scholar, not the fighter. The pen, not the voice.

**7. He plays the violin.**

Five years ago, an awkward 28-year-old man called upon a genial 23-year-old widow at her father's home. Her hair shared the color of wheat grown in Southern fields, and her radiant blue eyes drew men to her as if they were made of sapphires. She looked ever much the goddess that afternoon as she sat in a wicker chair on the porch, draped in a white cotton gown and surrounded by yellow Jessamine flowers. After he characteristically tripped up her porch steps, she soothed his anxiety with conversation, and soon he pulled his cherished violin from its case to play for her while she sang.

He thinks of that moment now as she pulls away from his lips, and his mind slowly returns to reality. She glows the way she did that afternoon as she pulls the white sheets up over her chest.

"Can you play it again, Thomas?"

He sits up and reaches down by the side of the bed, then pulls up his violin and bow with one swift motion of his long arm. He pushes a strand of red hair out of his face, adjusts the instrument beneath his chin and begins to strum. Martha lays deeper into the pillow, and he watches her eyes close as she sings along softly with the tune:

"I liked, but never loved, before I saw thy charming face…now every feature I adore, and dote on every grace…"

Later, as the carriage bound for home arrives, she tells him she had a pleasant chat with Mr. Adams and Dr. Franklin in the garden earlier that morning.

"They're very kind gentlemen." With a small laugh, she adds: "If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were smitten with me."

He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her closer to him, not caring if anyone on the street sees them. He feels her heart beating against his own, as it had all through last night. He momentarily forgets about the Congress, the Declaration he has to write and all the tedious duties of public life.

"They are not the only ones," he whispers.

He leans down and kisses her lips for what will be the final time in weeks.

**6. They begin to play. **

"Checkmate."

Benjamin Franklin leans in and presses on the rim of his spectacles as he examines the setup. After a few moments, he sits up and smiles.

"Well Tom, I commend your abilities. Not to indulge in vanity, but not many have bested me at chess…and I've played against accomplished English and French court members!"

"I am certain it was beginner's luck," he assures the doctor. "If I ventured into the French chess clubs, they would most likely ridicule me after one game."

"I would not say that," John Adams says. He sits at a desk nearby, hunched over a document from a committee and examining the words closely. "You don't fool me with your daydreaming, Candide-like manner, Mr. Jefferson. I bet yours is one of the most practical and calculating minds in all of Virginia."

He smiles wryly at the man from Massachusetts.

"You would be incorrect, sir. T'is actually one of the most calculating in all of the thirteen future states."

Ben chuckles as John stands up and slowly walks over to them.

"Perhaps we should test that, hrm? I shall play you a round."

"By all means," he replies smoothly, motioning to the opposite side of the board with the wave of a hand. Ben moves over to allow John to sit next to him.

"Go easy on him, Tom," Ben says jokingly.

"Oh, shut up, Franklin."

They begin to play, in what is only the first time they will attempt to outwit and defeat each other.

**5. These truths are sacred and undeniable. **

The monotonous tick of the clock soothes rather than disturbs him. The white bristles of the quill pen brush lightly against his skin as he dips the sharp tip into the ink, which glistens like oil. His long fingers drag the tip across the paper, the words flowing from his mind as effortlessly as music does from his violin.

The streets of downtown Philadelphia are raucously filled with laughing couples, belligerent drunks and dogs barking at carriages. Their obnoxious noises travel on the wind and enter through his open window, sounding as clearly as if their owners were standing in the room next to him. He pays them no mind.

He could be out there with his companions from Congress, watching Dr. Franklin flirt with the young ladies or listen to John Adams rant about Dickinson for the forty-fourth time that week. Yet he belongs here, alone with his ideals and paper upon which to express them. This time of day is as necessary to him as the heart that beats in his chest, the air he breathes or the ecstasy he gains from a night alone with his wife.

"_We hold these truths to be sacred and undeniable…" _

The wind blows as he scratches the pen against the parchment. He begins to hum:

"I liked, but never loved, before I saw thy charming face…"

**4. He wants to hate Edward Rutledge.**

He wants to hate Edward Rutledge, but he can't.

"Black slaves…why didn't you say so, sir? Are you trying to hide your meaning?"

For Edward Rutledge only speaks the truth.

"To us in South Carolina, black slavery is our peculiar institution and a cherished way of life."

As much as he protests against slavery in his personal correspondence, and as much as he wishes to appear to all of Congress as an antislavery man, that makes no difference to the hundreds of black men and women working at Monticello against their will. He speaks of his plantation as nearly perfect, yet the sad, sweating dark faces blemish his paradise whenever he returns home.

"Consider your own wounds, Mr. Jefferson, for you are a practitioner! ARE YOU NOT?!"

This clause in the Declaration was supposed to be his redemption, his spoken ideals transformed into reality. Edward Rutledge will not have it. He has unmasked him for what he is, like someone revealing the secrets of a clever magician's tricks. His country is Virginia, he is a son of the South, and as long as he owns slaves he knows he can never be anything else.

So instead of hating Edward Rutledge, he hates himself as he straightens his back like a taut ribbon and replies, testifying before many non-slaveholding congressmen:

"I have already decided to release my slaves."

He could have been an actor.

**3. They became his friends that day. **

"Cheer up, Jefferson," John Adams says. "Like I told you earlier, it's a masterpiece."

The migraine feels like a knife cutting through his brain. He rests his head on his hand and stares down at the green tablecloth on the desk.

"They're mutilating it," he says. "I thought it in no need of revision, particularly after we reviewed it together."

"Yes, but we can't stand here and whine about it," John says in his usual blunt manner. "We'll do no good that way. We must fight for it."

He sighs, feeling as if he could vomit. Why does he have to be so sensitive? Why can't he deal with criticism the way John does?

He feels a warm hand on his shoulder. He turns to see Ben Franklin, who had sat down next to him, looking at him with a small smile.

"Tom, this puts me in mind of a story," the doctor says. "When I was a journeyman printer, one of my companions—an apprentice hatter, having served out his time—was about to open shop for himself. His first concern was to have a handsome signboard, with a proper inscription. He composed it in these words: 'John Thompson, Hatter, makes and sells hats for ready money,' with a figure of a hat subjoined. But John thought he would submit it to his friends for their amendments…"

Ben continues the story, in which the friends all made subtractions to John Thompson's hat sign until it was reduced to nothing but the name "John Thompson" and a hat picture. Immediately after Ben finishes, they both hear John sigh.

"Oh, GOOD GOD! FISHING RIGHTS!" John exclaims as he stomps to the center of the room, waving his hands. "Will you whip it and beat it until you break its spirit?! I tell you that document is the ultimate expression of the American mind!"

In that moment, during the silence that follows John's outburst, Tom instinctively realizes he has gained two friends during his time in Philadelphia. No one but a friend could appease him and defend his work, an expression of his soul, when he needed someone to do so the most.

**2. He is free.**

"_We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,_

He clasps Martha's hand as she lies upon her deathbed. With her last breath, she makes him promise he will never marry again. He agrees.

_that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, _

When Martha is gone, he goes to his bedroom and locks the door. His tears flow uncontrollably, and his heart feels like someone attached a weight to it. He would rather slam his head against a wall rather than endure one more God blessed migraine. He goes outside only to ride his horse in the woods, and every time he resists the urge to make the horse run him far away from Virginia and never return.

_that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness._

He sits in the dark. He writes. He mourns alone.

Soon, however, mourning alone will become crippling rather than healing. The pain will never disappear, but it will diminish. He will dry his eyes and swear to never display his sorrow in public.

Because although he is a father, a violin player and a plantation owner, and although he was a husband, that is not all Thomas Jefferson can be. He knows that now.

_That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it,_

Being home on his "little mountain" will become boring, as there will be no more causes to fight for, no philosophies to test and no worlds to improve. He will not free his slaves, but he will continue writing about how much he hates slavery. He will begin thinking of his old friends, Dr. Franklin and John Adams, and realize that unlike them he has never visited Europe. And of course, he will have to go.

_and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness."_

Because he is the dreamer, the scholar, the pen. But he's also the image-crafter. The chess player. The revolutionary.

And now he is free.

**1. They're both fragile creatures.**

"_It was NEVER supposed to be this way." _He imagines the Boston accented voice elongating the word: _nevahhhhh. "You were an emaciated thirty-three year old who I never heard utter three sentences together. You couldn't even stand up for your own work when they were destroying it. You were NOTHING in that Congress, and you never would be unless I urged you to write that Declaration."_

He pauses in front of the mirror as he downs the last of the red wine in his glass. He frowns slightly as his hazel eyes gaze upon his reflection. His red hair had converted into a sandy blonde hue over the years, and now some strands were beginning to turn white.

"_I expected Washington and Franklin to overshadow my contributions to history, but YOU? YOU became the master politician?"_

"Yes, John," he says to his empty bedroom in the President's Mansion. He walks over to a small night table and places the empty glass upon it. "My sole duty for years now has been to ensure the continuation of our revolution, as well as its spread throughout the world. T'was not you individually who stood in the way, but your monarchial party."

Of course, he and John would never speak in this manner to one another should they ever meet again face-to-face. He would never speak his feelings so directly (he still despised confrontation after all these years), and he knew that John would never indulge in insults. Yet every night he can almost hear what his former friend and the former president of the United States _should _say to him. As if John was still living there and Tom asked to hear the words he knew he deserved to hear—or, so Tom could say the things he wanted to say to John candidly but never would.

"_Don't you dare talk to me about the ideals of our revolution, as if I don't know them. You just wanted to be president. You chose your own ambitions above our friendship."_

He envisions John staring him down from across the room, as he once did to John Dickinson so long ago. He removes his purplish-blue robe with the fur trim and drapes it over the footboard of the bed. He hears footsteps and the shuffling of a woman's dress approaching from down the hallway.

"I wish you would not take it so personally," he says. "In 1776, I believed you to be so much stronger than I. But we're both fragile creatures, John. I learned this in France when we were together, and unfortunately, I had to use your insecurities against you for the greater good. Getting to this position and continuing our revolution meant defeating the best who came before me, including yourself."

"_Turning your repeated insults towards me into a backhanded compliment will never work. You may know of my flaws and how to exploit them, but I know of yours just as well, Thomas. It may take two years or two hundred, but the people will discover your true self eventually. Just as Neddy Rutledge confronted you in Congress all those years ago, so will they."_

Although his face remains expressionless, he feels like cringing at the thought. He climbs onto the bed and sits on top of the quilt.

"You always did possess stark foresight, John. Then again, we all did to some degree, did we not?"

The footsteps in the hallway pause outside his door. He watches as the brass doorknob turns and the white door slowly swings open. Sally Hemings enters the room, and her coffee-colored eyes widen as she looks at him.

"_Now every feature I adore, and dote on every grace…"_

The imaginary specter of John Adams fades away.

**Most likely Sally H. wasn't at the White House in real life (I couldn't find any record of her being there), but I figured if 1776 can throw Martha into Philadelphia when she wasn't in real life, I could throw Sally into D.C. ;D I'll go in the requested order for the next three congressmen: Rutledge, Lee, Dr. Hall. :)**


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